


Selbstbefriedigung

by Solitary_Shadow



Category: My Chemical Romance, Rammstein
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Threesome, Unrequited, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/Solitary_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for April Fools' Day 2012. Dreams don't always come in the nicest of ways when you're asleep. Frank/Till/Richard, explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selbstbefriedigung

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any members of either My Chemical Romance or Rammstein. This is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> Warning: Written for April Fools' Day 2012. Relevant to Like Wild Falling Rain as an AU sidestory, no relevance otherwise to the main plot. Mature content for nudity and sexual themes.

**Selbstbefriedigung - A Rammstein/MCR Crossover**

\------------------

Frank Iero can't figure out how he's managed to get himself into this.

It's a Sunday evening and he's sitting at a desk in his hotel room where they're all staying. My Chemical Romance is currently two weeks into their joint tour with Rammstein, and they have two more weeks to go. A fulfilling time it has been, getting to know the other band, hanging out with older but surprisingly very high-spirited German men. A party's going on downstairs in the lobby at the moment; he knows everyone from both bands are there, with him being the sole exception. Having a history of frequent medical problems is really helpful in that way, when he can plead excessive tiredness to anything and will generally be let off to rest.

He wouldn't dream of using that excuse to get out of genuine work-related events or practice sessions, though. He loves being a guitarist. This really just goes to show how much he's become convinced that he's in a deep crisis, seeing as he's not actually too tired. Frank just _really_ wants to avoid seeing people right now - two particular people, to be exact, and for differing reasons.

"Terrible," he mumbles to himself, typing out a small blog entry on his laptop; it's an update for the fans, telling them how their tour is going, with all the personal problems omitted. God forbid anyone be allowed to figure out why he's so bothered. "this is just terrible. Why _them_. Why, when we're stuck with them for two more weeks."

He sighs and clicks 'Publish' before closing the browser, leaving him staring helplessly at his background image. It's a promotional shot of all the members of Rammstein gathered together in single file; he set it as his background to show off his admiration for them before they came to Germany, having fallen hard in love with their music and lyrics, and at first that was all it was. Something to indicate what band they would be touring with for a month, and a visual reminder of what all the members looked like. But now that he's familiar with them, he's taken to staring at two of them in particular; the precise two people that he's attempted to avoid for the past week and tonight, with varying degrees of success.

Just come right up and say it. "Till," he murmurs, reaching out and touching the face of said man in the image, running his finger down the screen, before glancing at the man next to him. "Till... and Richard."

The latter's name rolling off his tongue makes him shiver. Frank is avoiding Richard for the fairly straightforward reason that he finds the man extremely unsettling. This is Richard in a nutshell: the lead guitarist of Rammstein, still handsome and youthful despite his age of forty-two years, jet black hair, cool blue eyes, a personality that is a variable mix of flirtatiousness, Germanic indifference and an outward sense of self-confidence. Possibly metrosexual, must investigate further. That's all anyone would get from a first impression of Richard; strange but likable, and for the first week or so he got on perfectly well with the older man. That's not the unsettling part. That's where Till comes in.

Till Lindemann was the first member of Rammstein that Frank had known about, having fallen in love with his luscious bass-baritone and the way he so charmingly and devastatingly rolled his 'r's and growled his 'ch's. He's also the first person in the band to have approached the younger man, and they'd shared a rather unusual first conversation their first night in Germany - ever since then, they've been talking often, with the singer teaching him various quirks of the German language and showing him some hidden gems of the cities they end up in. Frank's become quite fond of the older man; he's good-looking, kind in a sort of aloof way, and intelligent. What more can he ask for? The way Till sometimes recites a fragment of a poem, or gestures while talking about something, or even giving the younger man one of his rare smiles while swirling some wine in a glass - " _Beautiful_ ," Frank sighs as he leans back on his chair, staring into Till's face in the photo longingly.

At first it was just his voice that Frank loved. After that came Till's truly remarkable talent for lyrics. And now that he's become accustomed to the man in the flesh, Frank's started struggling with more intimate feelings, one of a more carnal nature than he wants to acknowledge. He's thinking of the singer to almost an disruptive extent nowadays, imagining the other's body next to his own, wondering what it might feel like to hold him or kiss him. (Till possesses rather surprisingly pink, soft and beautifully shaped lips.) There's also the fact that Till is eighteen years older than him, although seeing as they're both self-sufficient adults Frank doesn't really think that this is a problem. This would be bad enough within a touring atmosphere, but at least Frank would be able to either dismiss it as a simple crush or think about actually making a move towards the man if not for Richard's presence. Thanks to that he's able to do neither, only dithering on helplessly. Till and Richard are clearly best friends and have been for many years - more years than Frank can really comprehend - but they're also more than that, much more, and there's no room for the younger guitarist in between. Richard is so much more soft-spoken and gentle when with Till, and they keep a sort of quiet intimacy between them that's not present between other members of the group.

But why stop at just hints? He knows they're a couple already. He saw them making love just a couple of days ago. He didn't _mean_ to watch, though; just passed by Richard's room at an inopportune time. Frank closes his eyes and lets himself travel back: different hotel, different city, but the memories are the same.

The scene in his head is two days before this evening, playing out in present tense. That helps him immerse himself in the memory better. It's roughly five in the morning, Friday, and Rammstein are due to be playing at half eight in the evening with My Chemical Romance providing the opener. Not too unusual. Frank is passing by Richard's room, having woken up very early and wanting to go for a walk, only to find that the door is slightly open and the lights are on inside. When he pauses and glances through the crack between the door and doorway, he sees Richard splayed out on the bed, eyes closed and with the covers pulled up to his chest as if asleep; he's making small moaning noises, though, and occasionally twitching a little. Frank would shrug and carry on, but when Till emerges from beneath the covers, lifting them up and giving a good view of what had been going on underneath, that option flies completely out of the window.

" _Weiter_ ," Richard murmurs quietly; Till nods and obediently ducks back down, resuming what he'd been doing, looking up at his lead guitarist with wide eyes. Richard's hands are gripping at Till's hair, making the older man briefly shut his eyes and let out a muffled whimper, an unexpectedly soft and sensual sound from his part - Frank is too used to the man's harsh growling vocals and low-key spoken baritone. He doesn't want to watch, he feels (quite frankly) very disappointed and somewhat cheated that Till and Richard are a couple after all, but he's glued to the spot. Till's soft whimper, combined with the two's unashamed nakedness, is turning him on.

He wonders what it would be to go down on Till or vice versa. He wonders what he tastes like, whether he's the kind of person to push his head down impatiently, and whether he'd be too big to take. The latter's probably quite likely. Till's over six feet tall, while Frank is a comparatively tiny five feet four. As he's thinking this Richard turns his head a little, glancing for only a second in his general direction; he hasn't been detected, but it's a close call. He gulps and steps to the side, making sure that he's not visible; _this is stupid,_ he's telling himself, _if someone catching you peeking in like some kind of pervert, you'd never hear the end of it_. But his own arousal, hard and stubborn (along with Richard's constant moaning and whispers of " _K_ _ü_ _ss mich_!"), keeps him watching. Frank doesn't want to touch it because that might end up being both incredibly messy and humiliating to himself - it would be acknowledging that he's getting off to them making love, it would be him acknowledging their relationship, and he really doesn't want that.

Richard then rolls over onto his stomach while Till spoons him from behind, pulling the covers over them to discreetly hide their bodies; there's a little moan from the former's part, which is the only hint that the older man's entered him. Frank, watching them, feels unspeakably envious of Richard, while at the same time marveling at how completely casual they are about the whole thing. Certainly not the loud, elaborate and lewd ritual that Frank might have expected. Hidden under the blankets, the two men are actually cuddling, kissing and _talking_ more than anything, with Till murmuring in German and Richard either chuckling softly or giving a quiet response. Every time the younger man laughs or shifts about a little, Till shivers and lets out a little groan from the sensation making its way straight through his body; apart from that, and the slight rocking movement visible around where their hips are, that's all the indication that sex is going on.

" _Ach_ ," Richard gasps into the pillow at one particularly hard thrust. " _Gott in Himmel_! _H_ _ä_ _rter, Till_!"

Till obliges, and the talk dies down a little as the two men focus more on making love; but it's still fully affectionate and even kind of sweet, even if they're clutching each other and leaving bruises and teethmarks on their partners' skin. Frank is aware that it's half past five in the morning and the sun is beginning to rise when Till closes his eyes, letting out a long, soft moan and suddenly ceasing all movement; he's finished. They stay still like that for a while before the older man pulls out and collapses on the other's chest, panting and blinking sweat out of his eyes, lazily running his palm over Richard's pecs and licking at the skin, obviously feeling the remnants of lust as he's coming back down from his high.

" _Verhalte dich_!" the younger man scolds playfully, pushing Till's hand away. _Behave yourself_. Back to having the upper hand again. Frank's just amazed that Till isn't complaining; the older man simply smirks at him and lays down, closing his eyes and dozing off just like that. Richard smiles and caresses his lover's dark hair slowly as he too lies back into the cotton pillows, sighing happily.

Frank's seen enough. He backs away and runs across back to his own room, nearly dropping the keycard as he swipes it shakily across the slot and wrenches the door open. Throw himself into bed. Cover his head with the pillow. He expects to be tormented by what he saw for the rest of the day, but he falls asleep surprisingly quickly only to awake three hours later, feeling curiously detached and emotionless about the whole business. Even so, he takes care not to talk to or meet eyes with the two Germans throughout the day.

_Alright. Flashback over._  
Pan out.

Frank shakes himself back to reality and groans a little, burying his face in his hands. He logs off just to not have to see the background image again.

And all of this is why Richard is so unsettling. The way he assumes dominance over Till and yet hands it over to him at the slightest touch; the way he glances at Frank sometimes with a strange look in his eyes. It'd have been so much easier to accept if the two of them saw nothing but each other, but Frank can sometimes swear that Richard has no sense of personal space when it comes to him, that he's constantly staring at his tattoos and checking out his body, comparing the younger guitarist to himself. The younger man really doesn't want any part in it, but he knows that the older guitarist is aware of his crush on Till - Richard knows that Frank knows that the two are already a couple - and he's taunting the younger man constantly with the knowledge.

Frank is not a threat to their relationship. He hasn't known either of them long enough.

But they know. They know already. At least, Richard probably does.

_Till's my property_ , he can just imagine the man saying, _and I'm his property. There is no room for you._

"I know." Frank mutters to himself. "I _know_..."

Then he realizes that he's talking to himself, and shakes his head. He closes the laptop and puts it on the bedside table. Thinking about all this is not doing anything but depressing him to bits; he should probably sleep. He slides out of his clothes and puts on his blue cotton pajamas before climbing into bed and turning out the lights. Inhaling the smell of air freshener on the pillow, Frank thinks of the fact that he's probably sleeping on a hotel bed that's been used for sex at a recent point in time, and isn't sure how to feel about that.

Till had used a condom back then. There's also that little detail. He and Richard practice safe sex, or at least as safe as it gets. Admirable, but at the same time, Frank can't help but feel that it might feel a little unfulfilling and wonders if they've ever done it without condoms.

He'd let Till come straight in him. After all, that's usually where it's meant to go.

No point in thinking about all of this now. Tomorrow is another day, after all.

\-----

"Hello? Is anyone in?"

Knock. Knock. Silence.

There's a package that needs delivering to Richard and somehow Frank got chosen to pass it to him. So he's here, having ended up in front of Richard's hotel room, knocking to check if anyone's in. It feels kind of unreal to be standing here, especially when he's spent the past week or so avoiding the man - but it's not an uncomfortable feeling. More of a lack of feeling, full stop. He'll just deliver it and be on his way, and if Richard isn't in he'll just leave it outside the door or something.

" _Wer ist es_?"

Ah. He's in.

"It's Frank," his own voice sounds oddly subdued. "you've got a package from-" Frank looks down quickly. "-Dresden, it says. I was asked to hand it to you."

"Oh, those must be the new strings," Richard says, his voice sounding oddly sensual and rough at the same time. The younger guitarist frowns; _sensual_? "the door's open. Do come in."

His own hands don't feel real to him, but when he reaches out and grasps the doorknob, it turns smoothly enough and clicks reassuringly. Pushing it open, Frank walks in quickly, taking in the details of the room - standard hotel accommodations, really, nothing special. Clean white porcelain sink and ensuite, red curtains over a darkening outside view, luggage splayed out on the floor along with a couple of cans of beer, Richard's dark-colored clothes hung up in the open wardrobe, and the bed-

_Oh shit. I should have known._

"Just put it on the bedside table, if you'd please," Richard chuckles, lying on the bed with Till next to him. They're cuddling; as the older guitarist says this Till rolls over to press a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, covers tugging off and revealing that they're both naked and very aroused. "something wrong?"

_Yes, there is something very wrong. You guys are stark naked and either going to be fucking or just done fucking - and despite this all you let me in! What the hell? There's something very definitely wrong with that entire picture!_

Says he in his mind. Really, he just shakes his head, swallows hard to try to get rid of the lump in his throat - it doesn't work - and nigh-tosses the package onto the bedside table before taking a nervous step backwards. "I'll, um, just get going then..."

"Would you like to join in?"

Time stops. _Say no_ , Frank's mind is telling him. _Say no. Get out. This isn't normal._

"... I... I'm sorry?"

Richard doesn't say anything. Just lets the covers slip off his shoulders, revealing his taut, smooth torso, the fallen blanket strategically covering the lower half of his body. In doing so, some of Till's body is also revealed - namely, just his shoulders, but my God they are _incredible_ shoulders - and this is what keeps the younger guitarist fixed to his spot and staring. Till sits up, brushing back the loose strands of hair from his fringe, looking straight into Frank's eyes. "I've seen the way you've looked at Till for the past week or so," Richard is explaining with a smile, but he barely hears it. Till's simply gazing into Frank's face, his own expression blank. "and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest. He is quite a specimen, isn't he?"

The singer's studying his figure. Frank gulps and stands completely still, wanting to run, but somehow his legs won't obey.

"He and I've been in a relationship for quite some years now, but I'd be a fool to tell you that we don't experiment now and then with different partners. So what do you say? Would you like to join us?"

He should say no. He should deny it and back away while he can. But then the singer gets out of bed, his swimmer's body displayed in its full glory in front of the younger guitarist, and Frank is mesmerized. And then suddenly he's getting kissed by Till, melting into the touch of the older man's lips. For some reason the thought that this might be an unnatural occurrence of events, that perhaps he's getting into what he won't be able to fix later, doesn't come to him. There's just him and Till and they're kissing, the latter's lips trailing and pecking gently around his mouth, so warm and sensual that Frank doesn't even notice that he's being disrobed. Richard's hands are on him now, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it in the corner, fumbling with his belt and trousers and sliding them off his hips while he licks at Frank's earlobe and nuzzles the tattoo on his neck. But it's not until the kiss is over and Frank is pushed backwards onto the bed, wearing only his boxers and socks, that he's aware of all of this - even then these items of clothing are soon taken from him, tossed carelessly to the floor, leaving him completely naked, aroused and vulnerable.

" _Du bist sch_ _ö_ _n_ ," Till finally breaks his silence with this compliment, gazing at his body appreciatively. Richard nods next to him, looking quite pleased with himself; all Frank can think about is how muscular and strong they seem to be compared to his own lithe body, and feeling a little self-conscious about it. His own attempt to regain some control is quashed when he reaches out towards Till, wanting to please the older man or be pleased by him - and is intercepted by the older guitarist instead.

"Now, Frank, there's always a rightful order to everything," Richard says, looking at him a near predatory smile. "I'll be blunt. We both want to have some fun with you and I do hope you'd enjoy it as well - I know your goal is mostly Till-" his eyes darken for a second unnervingly. "-but seeing as I suggested you join us... well, wouldn't you agree that there needs to be _some_ sort of acknowledgement from your part?"

He has to nod because it's really not as if he has much choice. Submitting to Richard, on his hands and knees, letting the older guitarist do what he wants to do. A small price to pay for being allowed to join, even if Richard's not the one that he wants. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Till in front of him, who's watching the two guitarists squirming together on the sheets with a little smile on his face. Frank can almost feel Richard cooing dirty words into his ear in his deep voice, husky with lust and affection and mingled loathing, his nails digging into his back, hand giving him a hard slap on his backside, his teeth grazing his earlobe, marking and scarring him and proving that _he's_ the dominant one to both him and Till. It doesn't matter. Only Till matters to him. And after what seems like a nigh eternity - only about a quarter of an hour, though, and Frank can't say he didn't physically enjoy it - he's rewarded when Richard backs off and the singer bends down to kiss him and caress his naked body all over. The older guitarist is a man of his word, after all, and he simply sits there smoking a cigarette and watching them lazily.

Till's larger than Richard. Frank has to clench his teeth and shut his eyes tightly as he's filled, but once the pain fades away and the older man's fully inside, he feels more contented than anything. It helps that Till's much gentler and considerate than Richard, actually taking the time to quietly inquire whether he's in pain and whether he's comfortable before starting to move. Frank's kept quiet out of both submission and defiance with the older guitarist, unwilling to give him more than a few perfunctory moans and a few gasps here and there, but with the singer he can just let himself go.

"Ahh... Till... oh God, Till... mmm, yeah..."

"That's right," Till pants from above him, holding onto him tightly with one arm, their bodies fitting together nicely. Frank turns his head back to look at him, and is greeted with a little kiss and a warm nuzzle; it's so different from his experience with the older guitarist and yet feels a hundred times better. He closes his eyes and cries out with each thrust, feeling almost like a wanton slut and enjoying it in a guilty sort of way. Shame it won't last for too long.

Of course he's all prepared for the inevitable; he's had his share of fun with Richard and soon Till, so order dictates that he should be the next one sitting back and watching them make love. And Frank really shouldn't feel bothered about that but he does. As if his mind's been read, Till slows his pace, making the younger man whimper and look back in silent pleading, before he suddenly grabs Frank firmly around the waist and heaves him up so that he's sitting on the older man's lap. Till keeps the other's arms fixed firmly behind his back, denying him any control as to where his body's moving, before giving Richard a knowing look.

The older guitarist leans forwards, his breath lightly tickling Frank's chest and making him squirm in unwanted longing. Grinning, Richard gently runs his tongue down the other's skin without touching anywhere else - there's just him and his warm, rough tongue, running down the younger man's clavicle, down his heavily tattooed chest, teasing the tips of his nipples, sucking on one ever so softly. All the while never even laying a hand on Frank's body. The young man bucks into the touch, crying out, writhing desperately and trying to get some sort of release; but Till's still moving too slowly to really ease his frustrations and Richard's mouth is nowhere near where it should be. It's not until he finally almost-sobs "God, please, _please_ let me come" that there's a reaction from either of them.

" _Was ist los, Frank_?" Richard asks smoothly, moving away from the other's body and raising one elegant eyebrow. "you wouldn't even show Till the courtesy of letting him finish first, hmm?"

"No, it's not that-"

"You talk entirely too much for a pet," Richard cuts him off, a little smile on his lips as he leans back on his arms, gazing with dark half-lidded eyes at the younger man. He knows that it's frustrating Frank to the utmost extreme and he loves it all too well. "it's not a very desirable quality. Do you agree, Till?"

Till doesn't give a verbal response but Frank shuts his eyes tightly and shakes his head, afraid to either see or feel should the singer actually _does_ agree. "I'm... I'm sorry..."

"What was that?"

Richard laughs quietly and Till's pacing slows even more. "Do speak just a little louder," the latter puts in, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, the faint vibration of it making its way through Frank's back and making him tremble uncontrollably. "I'll reward you if you're good. But Richard will punish you if you aren't. That's just how things are."

The older guitarist reaches out and brushes Frank's chest with one hand, making him relax just a little at the warm touch - only to roughly pinch a nipple and make him let out a half-scream of agony and pleasure. "Now then. _What_ was it that you said?"

"Ah, _God_ \- I'm - I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

"And you'll keep quiet from now on?"

He nods, correctly deducing that speaking will only gain him more torturous pleasure. Impressed at this, the look on Richard's face softens into something more gentle; "What a good boy," he coos as he sits closer to the younger guitarist again, leaning forwards to capture his lips with his own. The kiss makes Frank tense up only for a second before he forces himself to relax - not too difficult, as the older man's being surprisingly tender, stroking his hair and running his hand over his back. If only he'd be like that more often. Richard breaks the kiss - "well, we're nothing if we can't keep promises. Do give him his reward, Till."

"But of course," Till chuckles - and lifts Frank up, pulling out of him completely and pushing him back onto the bed to lie flat on his back before positioning himself on top. The younger man can only gasp and stare up into the other's face, a little afraid and still tense from what Richard's done to him but immensely excited that he and Till are going to be engaged in such an intimate position. "I'll give you what you need..."

And this is where the illusion breaks because Frank inconveniently remembers the height difference between him and Till. That position won't actually work out. Ah well. With that realization, he is jolted awake with a sharp gasp, looking around wildly to see that he is alone and lying in his bed. He's panting, his entire body covered in a thin sheen of sweat; feeling numb, he slowly and shakily raises an arm, pushing the covers off him. It's harder than expected because he's been sleeping on said arm and it's pretty much gone dead.

"Oh no..." he whispers as he looks down at himself, and then closes his eyes again with a groan, dismayed at his state and his own insane imagination. At least it wasn't a wet dream, it'd be weird having those at his age - he can't help but think of Richard, his intensely alluring rival, and a shudder runs through his body. He didn't want the other's touch in the dream and thinking about it now gives him the creeps (for the lack of better phrasing), but there isn't much room for denial when even his imagination thinks that Richard would be a good sex partner. It was good with just Till, though-

Never mind that. He's got a problem that needs taking care of. Frank reaches out blindly towards the bedside table and his hand comes in contact with his laptop; sensation runs up his arm in an electrifying tingle, and he winces, but at least it's distracting. Dragging himself out of bed, he picks up his laptop and opens it up, seeing that it's only eight o'clock in the evening. He's gotten about two hours' worth of sleep altogether. Groaning in dismay, he sets it back down on the table before looking towards the door. His friends are probably still downstairs, having fun, and the Rammstein members will be there as well. He's not going outside when he's all hot and bothered, and seeing Till or Richard isn't going to help matters any. He rests his forehead on one hand, thinking furiously - he doesn't want to take care of it himself, that would be acknowledging the two Germans' influence over his body and it really ought not to be this way. But he's got to get rid of it somehow because he's not going to be able to sleep otherwise.

Frank hasn't got a lot of options, but he guesses that he can distract himself back down to a less heated state. He bends down, opens the laptop back up again and brings up a playlist that he's been using as an aid to practice his guitar chords and play along when he wants to relax. They're the songs with constant, fairly simple and repetitive rhythm guitar parts. Some are of their own songs and some are not. He then fetches his little portable amp, headphones and electric guitar, setting them down on the bed - take care of his problem and get some practice in too. No one can say that he's not a hard worker. Peeling off his damp pajamas, he lies down on the bed with only boxers and headphones on, letting his body cool down before strumming at his guitar. He shivers a little at the cold entering his body, but it's a good sign at least.

_"They're gonna clean up your looks, with all the lies and the books, to make a citizen out of you..."_

"E," he murmurs to himself, smiling as he plays along. Good song. Easy to lose himself in. Saying the chords out loud helps him keep his mind off the dream. "E- B-"

" _Because they sleep_ ("A") _with a gun_ ("A"), _and keep an eye_ ("E") _on you, son_ , _so they can watch_ ("B") _all the things you_ ("E") _do_..."

Exhaling, Frank lets the tension leave his body, letting Gerard's voice wash over him and thinking of the countless times they performed this song onstage. He's doing okay now, hopefully he'll be able to cool down completely by the time the next song rolls around. Ideally it should be a quieter one so he can get back to sleep.

_"Teenagers scare - the living shit out of me!"_

It's fine if it isn't quiet, though. Frank's used to it. He's not a rhythm guitarist in a violent-pop band for nothing.

_"They could care less as long as someone will bleed!"_

"E - B -"

_"So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose-"_

_"-Maybe they'll leave you alone; but not me_!" he sings along with the chorus, nodding to the beat. He really ought to be playing this with Ray, that's always fun - after all, rhythm guitar performs better with a lead guitarist on hand. Assuming a mix of both roles to further challenge himself, during the bridge section Frank also manages what he thinks is a fairly good variation on Ray's solo, even rounding off the entire (sadly too short) song with one final elaborate riff of his own. "awright, baby," he says as he pats the body of his guitar. "so... what's next?"

There's a lengthy pause, and then the sound of synthesizers begin. Frank's eyes widen and he groans as he recognizes the song; just his luck, it's one of Rammstein's own.

"Jesus, what the...? When did I even put that on the playlist?"

The riffs have started up - heavy but repetitive. That's probably why he put it on there. He's not given this one much thought before, his favourite Rammstein song is 'Morgenstern' - he can listen to that one on loop for hours on end - but either way, it's not what he needs right now.

"I can't practice this, I don't even have the pedals," Frank protests out loud; dreading the sound of the vocals, he shoves the headphones down a little so everything sounds a little muffled, but doesn't pause the music. He doesn't mean what he said, of course, if it's for simple practice then he has no need for pedals and he can figure out the rhythm guitar parts easily enough. It's the _lyrics_ that's the problem.

_(Ich bin der Reiter...)_

No, he doesn't speak German. But he read the translations beforehand.  
Granted, it's fairly standard Rammstein fare, but that's not the point.

_(Du bist das Ross.)_

Why did it have to be _this_ song? Frank sits up on his elbows, half a mind to reach out and skip to the next one or re-shuffle the playlist, but can't quite bring himself to do it.

_(Ich steige auf...)_

_Right, okay, Frank, it's not that hard,_ he tells himself. _It's just a battle of wills._

_(Wir reiten los...)_

Paul's part is simple. Turn the distortion up on the amp.  
Frank bites down on his lip, trying to pay attention only to the riffs and playing along.

_(Du st_ _ö_ _hnst.)_

But the way Till almost breathes - _moans_ out this line - is so sensual that he has to close his eyes for a brief moment.  
His voice is gorgeous. That's a simple, undeniable fact. Gorgeous, deep, irresistibly sexy.

_(Ich sag dir vor ein-)_

Great. He's hard again. Wonderful.  
Just what he needed.

_(-Elefant im Nadel_ _ö_ _hr...)_

Maybe a belated metaphor, but even thinking of it's driving Frank crazy.

He really has to wonder (letting out a sigh of relief as the instrumentals kick in) if Till writes from experience more often than he lets on. It wouldn't be surprising. Of course he wouldn't write about necrophilia and bestiality from experience, that'd be just gross and terribly illegal - hold that thought, maybe it'll help his erection go down faster - but this song is about just sex. Hard, rough fucking to be exact. Not sure whether it's with a woman or a man, but it doesn't really matter. Frank thinks it's probably about a woman.

_(Rein!)_

_In._

_(Raus!)_

_Out._

He can't concentrate on the riff anymore. Shaking his head, Frank tries to get back into the rhythm but fails miserably; his hands have lost their magic, simply holding onto the guitar, rigor mortis settling over the strings. Till's voice keeps chanting _in_ and _out,_ the hard, aggressive beats of the song mimicking what it's describing. And by God, it is hot and sexy and so terrifyingly alluring that-

_(Tiefer! Tiefer!)_

-He flinches upon hearing the backup vocals. This is Richard's voice. Frank hasn't noticed this until now.

_(Sag es!)_

A command. He has to obey.

"Till..."

_(Sag es laut!)_

"... _Till_!"

_(Tiefer! Tiefer!)_

He has to wonder if Richard ever was turned on while singing this.  
Hell, Frank isn't singing it and he's _still_ turned on. Whatever sense that makes.

_(Ich f_ _ü_ _hl mich wohl in deiner Haut!)_

He thinks of Richard in the dream, fucking him from behind without remorse or mercy, telling him with his entire body how much he doesn't appreciate having to share Till while expressing the lust he feels for the younger man at the same time. And he didn't like the mental side of it in the slightest, but thinking of the older guitarist arouses him again; he tries to put it out of his mind, but dream Richard keeps coming back anyway. Rough and hard. How in the world did he manage to turn a handsome and vaguely aloof German guitarist into this creature of pure lust and resentment in his mind?

_(Und tausend Elefanten brechen aus-)_

No use denying it, though. Richard is his rival, both competing for Till, and so far the older guitarist is winning. But Frank belongs to Richard too and vice versa, in ways that he doesn't want to think about.

He should learn to not think, full stop, but he's so aroused at this point that he knows he has no other choice.  
He fought a battle of wills and he's lost.

...

_It's all in your head, Frank. All in your head.  
None of this is real. Richard isn't a sex freak and neither he nor Till are out to get you._

...

_(Rein! Raus!)_

It's already too late. The guitar's disconnected, the cables trailing helplessly on the floor next to the abandoned amp, Frank clutching at the neck of it as he rolls over and grinds his hips hard into the sheets. This shouldn't be happening and it's absolutely terrible and he _hates himself for it_ but he just can't stop, not when Till's voice is ringing in his ears despite his headphones slipping out of place.

_(Rein! Raus!)_

He's moaning, actually moaning, right hand reaching up to caress the painfully-hard nubs on his chest, left hand clutching at the guitar with all his might, fingers swiping across the strings and creating a dissonant strumming noise. No rhythm guitarist worth his salt should be treating his instrument like this - Frank is so ashamed that he buries his face into the pillow, biting hard into it to stifle his cries, tasting sweat and starched fabric. But all he can think of is Till, the dream Till, their sex scene playing out over and over to the beat of the music; he might be too short for the missionary position, but they can work around that. Why, Till's even suggested it himself.

_(Rein!)_

Wanting to be on top, riding the older man with zeal, not caring who hears them.

_(Tiefer!)_

Fantasizing about just him and Till, his hot thick moans weaving into their shared rhythm.  
How the singer's hands will caress and tear him to shreds with his burning touch.

How they might kiss, lips against bruised lips, Till's hot tongue running against the cold metal of his lip ring.

_(Raus!)_

Imagining how the other will scream his name as he fills Frank with his warmth, deep inside.

_(Tiefer!)_

A dream that he can't quite cling onto.  
His orgasm is building; there are tears running down his cheeks and he's so mortified but he needs it, he _needs_ to release.  
He'd go mad otherwise.  
Frank clings tightly onto his now slightly-untuned guitar to compensate, panting, writhing on the sheets, moaning into the pillow.

_(Rein!)_

_Ahh. Ah, yes. God._

_(Tiefer!)_

He's going to give in.

_(Raus!)_

_Ahh. Fuck. Till. Ahhhhhh._

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this as a faux third chapter of Like Wild Falling Rain as an AF prank. I repost it here as a oneshot sidestory.
> 
> 'Selbstbefriedigung' is a rather technical term meaning 'self-satisfaction' in German.


End file.
